From Hell to Heaven: Morrowland
by Mori'draug Arthye
Summary: An unknown continent several weeks trip by boat from Vvardenfel is under a terrible curse. An ancient evil lurks there, and causes the land to be infertile, and the creatures to become hellish monsters. Who can save them, but the strangest trio? TES 3 Mod
1. Authors Notes

This was originally a roleplay between me, Softncuddly, and Psywinder, on the RuneScape forums. It's based on a Morrowind mod called "From Hell to Heaven: Morrowland". Originally, it was about a Vampire who sacrificed himself to save the continent of Morrowland (which would save Vvardenfel), but with Softncuddly and Psywinder, it became something greater. We got to the equivalent of Part 2 of From Hell to Heaven, Morrowland, and we couldn't get any further due to commitments in life outside the roleplay, and it died.

In about 2006, May, I began writing it again, instead, starting from where we left off- the battle at Death Castle. I wrote until we got to Lord Timothy, and it became apparent that I didn't have the proper skill to write something so big when I was 14 years old.

Now, 2008, I am 16. I have seen much in 2 years, and I have started writing this baby again, except, from the start. To get in the mood, I often listen to music, and my main soundtracks come from Nightwish, Evanescence, the Day after Tomorrow soundtrack, and the Time Machine soundtrack by Klaus Badelt.

I also listen to some of the music from the game to get myself into the Morrowland train of mind, and that's in the parts when something major happens.

I am not totally sure of what format I am going to put this in, chapter or part, but it's my fond hope that I will get the whole thing done, true to the vision of myself, Softncuddly and Psywinder, and true to the original vision of Gamebro and Bezerk, the original writers of this excellent Morrowind mod.

To put the summary short, it's a story about an ancient vampire, a girl the last of her species, and a fallen, corrupted angel. It's a story about love, trust, hardships and death. It's a story about pain, suffering, but most of all, it's a journey. It's a story about two peoples' love, and how it can overcome all boundaries. It's a story about a dark past, and how it can always come back to haunt them. It's a story about the darkness poisoning the land, a poison soon to spread to Vvardenfel.

This is From Hell to Heaven: Morrowland.


	2. The storm

They had been at sea for at least thirteen days, cutting through the ice cold water like a knife through a cake. It was night time, and the cold air whipped around the ship with remarkable ferocity, and all the crew had retreated down into the bowels of the ship, except one.

A young man, of about twenty five years or less stood on the mahogany bow, his pale skin glowing in the moonlit sky. He wore rags of a pale colouration, almost peach as it spanned across his broad chest and shoulders, showing a visible scars on his chest, a word, gouged into his skin for time to never forget- Arthye.

His eyes were black- black like a cave, black like the back of a beetle, black as the Dreadlord himself. Black as the darkness that brews within every humans' soul. His hair was also black, lightened only by brown tips, falling in long curls to his shoulders.

He was quite tall, about 6"5' in height, with his wrists held together by an iron chain. He was bowed over, his shoulders hunched slightly, clutching between his hands a wet mop, cleaning the hard mahogany deck.

It was a cold night, and the air smelt of an upcoming storm. The man raised his head and gazed from underneatheh is fringe into the night sky, trying to discern if he could see any of the birth signs that coloured his sky of norm, and yet, thick cloud cover obstructed his view.

They could be lost, and he could not take comfort in the stars that governed where he lived.

Sighing, he moved down away from the bow with the mop in his cold hands. Holding it over the edge, he wrung the water from it with his hands, and felt the cold liquid rush away into the sea. He moved towards the trapdoor that led below deck, and readied himself by crouching beside the door. He lifted it and quickly lowered himself, taking a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness, his eyes becoming accustomed to it almost instanenously.

He leaned the mop against the wall, and moved towards his 'bed', a pile of cloth in the corner where he was allocated. There was another slave, but that was kept as his food source. The Argonian was asleep beside his pile of cloth, his tail swishing about slightly in sleep.

He sat down on his bed and watched as the Argonian woke. "Come to take my blood, pink-skin?"

"No." The man spoke, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle. "I am in no need."

"Ah. Come to sleep, then?"

The man shrugged slightly and lay down on the pile of cloth, stretching out slightly. "I don't sleep." He muttered, using his arms as a pillow.

"I have felt the turn of tides too, pink-skin. Be wary."

The man shrugged again and said, "Be wary for what?"

"Death," The argonian warned. "You do not want to become like those that die out at the sea. Ghosts of the Ghost Sea."

"We're not in the Ghost Sea. We're somewhere else altogether."

--

The storm jostled everything around, and launched from his bed, the man slid across the floor and into a collumn in the middle of the room. Grunting slightly he looked about, and gazed calmly at the water lapping around at his bare feet.

"Storm," The Argonian said, standing a little. "I am unable to go with you, pink-skin."

"I know." The man whispered, his eyes focused on the fact that everyone else was not there below cabin with them. "You will drown here."

"I am argonian. I am.. used to water. I will live, for a while, at least."

"I can get you out of here."

"To be used as your food source. No, thank you. This one would rather die."

The man nodded. "It's a fate that I wouldn't wish upon anyone." He bowed his head at the Argonian. "I wish you well on your journey to whatever after-life you believe in."

"And you, the same, Vampire."

The man nodded again and stood quickly, clenching his fists tightly. In a sudden movement, he pulled his arms away from each other, and the manacles that tied his arms together broke completely. Discarding them on the floor quickly, he climbed up through the trapdoor, feeling water lapping around his knees as he poked his head through the hole of the door.

The view that befell him was a curious one- the ship was half submurged in water, and it was rapidly sinking. They were caught in the middle of a terrible storm, and the wind was tossing them about madly.

Standing up, the man clasped his hands around him, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. He watched, almost in horror as the mast broke in half, a long groan as it gave up the struggle against the wind and it began its' descent. Moving quickly, he ran under it and dodged it, rolling to the side to avoid being squashed. He stumbled slightly, and he could feel a sudden, sharp pain in his right leg.

He grunted out loud in pain, and gazed down at his leg, and watched as blood began to pulse out of his leg, a large, jagged piece of wood sticking out of his calf.

He wrenched it out with a hand, and threw it afar, his black eyes searching for anyway off this deathtrap. He didn't need air, or food (except blood) and that might be a little difficult, seeing as he didn't know where he was. He dived over the side of the galleon and into the cold sea, his arms working overtime to keep him upright in the torrential sea.

He swam a few metres before turning around, and, he could see now what had struck the ship, causing everything to be tossed around like a rag doll- a huge storm that swirled around the ship- and only the ship. It had to be mystical in nature, because, about ten metres away from the ship, there was absoloutly no storm, and the winds were calm.

He didn't care much for the boat, and so, he turned around and fled.

He lost track of time, and it could have been hours before he began to see clear sky again- and the stars. The stars were completely different to that of what they should have been. No birth-stars were visible, and even the constelatations of the Eight and One were no longer there. Even the stars that represented the Daedric Gods weren't there.

The alien stars frightened him a little, but the more impending issue was the expanse of water he had just swum through, and how much more he would have to swim through, to get to any kind of civilization.

Tired, he stopped, and kept himself afloat with his arms, and he gazed around. What he saw now could have given an old Elf a heart-attack.

A beach. A beautiful beach, with golden sand that shone white with the moon, and just beyond that, a heavy treeline of exotic jungle and plants.

He let out a sigh of relief, and he began to swim for it, his body tired and his limbs aching. When he reached the soft sand he collapsed on the beach, and curled his legs up to his chest, shivering slightly.

Perhaps through bloodloss, he lost consciousness.


End file.
